


Snapshot Love

by Ladelle



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: AU - No capes, M/M, Photography, Sharing Body Heat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 13:30:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9326858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladelle/pseuds/Ladelle
Summary: Tim and Jason are used to working together. Getting stranded, however, is a whole new experience.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A ficlet for JayTimWeek for the prompt 'Photography'. Teamed up with the wonderful TK, who did some awesome art in tandem.

“Tim,” Jason stated, spilling a long breath. “What are you doing?”

From the passenger seat, Tim licked his lips before tapping the shutter release of his camera, effectively drowning Jason out in a quick burst of sudden, blaring white.

“Documenting,” he stated, adjusting the focus as he chewed on a wad of gum that had long-since lost its flavor. “I’ve never seen a fail quite this epic.”

From beyond the front windshield, a hefty flurry of snow swept across the road in sheets, effectively blocking out anything more than ten feet away. It was a blizzard; a real, decimating drift that had pinned them to the side of a lesser-known highway on the eastern border of Bulgravia.

“Whoa, whoa,” Jason stated, letting his head roll against the rest until he was flashing Tim a raised brow. “Who was it that said we needed to make it before nightfall? Hm?”

Tim snapped another picture, folding his lips together to keep from smirking when Jason was doused in another startling punch of white - an unexpected flash that had Jason tossing out a curse.

“I said we’d need to either make it by nightfall or try again _after_ all this,” Tim stated, lowering his camera in order to gesture out of the window. “Now we’re not going to make it at all.”

Decked in an alarmingly plaid, long-sleeved shirt, Jason rolled his eyes. He looked every ounce as aggravated as he probably felt, tension dragging down his features as he replied, “Dramatic much?”

There was nothing _dramatic_ about it - they were trapped on a curved road that spilled out of a narrow pass, and Tim was smart enough to know when options were limited.

“I’m just saying that I’ve seen this movie,” he forewarned, peering at Jason through the viewfinder. It was a small square of focus that delivered him a perfectly dynamic view of Jason’s _do it and I’ll kill you look_ \- and Tim was forced to lean back against the door, putting more space between them.

“Which movie?” Jason questioned, eyes looking sharp. “The one where the weapons specialist destroys the photographer’s camera?”

Tim huffed a laugh, not quite liking the way the cold from the window roamed the bare skin above the collar of his t-shirt. “ _Ooh_ ,” he said, chewing his gum idly before bringing his gaze to meet Jason’s. “At the end, did the weapons specialist owe him a newer, fancier model?”

“Pff,” Jason snorted, shifting forward so that his wrists crossed over the steering wheel. “Were you born with wishful thinking or does it just come naturally?”

Even though he hadn’t been aiming for anything precise, Tim snapped a picture - and as soon as the flash erupted, Jason was climbing towards him, blinking widely with wild eyes.

“Tim, I swear to -”

“Stop, stop -” Tim found himself scrambling back, holding his camera high, even though it was impossible to keep it from Jason’s long-armed reach. There was something heartracing about being pressed to the door, Jason crawling forward with intent. “I’ll stop, I promise-”

“Your promises are _lies_ ,” Jason stated, pausing halfway over the middle consul, one hand pressed into the gap between Tim’s leg and the seat-back. His eyes glittered, and Tim felt heat fan his neck; he hoped desperately that it wouldn’t crawl as high as his cheeks. “Remember the time I said, ‘ _Don’t go to Bialiya’_ and you said, ‘ _Okay’_?”

Still keeping his arm curved high, Tim shifted his head just enough to brush his bangs from his eyes. He found it impossible not to swallow, wondering if, in a different world, Jason would ever close the distance between them and smile against his lips, just before stealing a kiss.

“In my defense, I never _promised_ ,” Tim found himself saying, surprised that this was the topic they’d landed on. The one time he’d taken an assignment from Wayne Enterprises without Jason assigned to him; an experience he wouldn’t forget for many reasons, the first of which being that Jason would probably never let him.

“Ugh,” Jason rolled his eyes and drew back, the fabric of his sleeves going taut as his muscles corded beneath. Even in such a big car, in the vast space the Rover offered, Jason’s bulk was apparent; he was one-hundred pounds of muscle mass larger than Tim, though he wore it in ways that gave him a rugged, protective appeal. “Assignments with Tim Drake. Zero-out-of-ten would recommend.”

At that, Tim frowned; the comment fell a bit lower than he suspected it was meant to, but then again, Jason had never been one to hold back.

“In the movie,” Tim decided to say, backtracking. “ _My_ movie,” he clarified, “they leave the car running too long while the snow piles up and eventually end up dying of carbon monoxide poisoning.”

Jason’s eyes flickered to the dashboard, and his expression dipped from playful to thoughtful, a sudden change that was unexpected, but matched the words he chose to follow with. “Yeah, I was thinking about that, too.”

Tim lowered his arm and cushioned his camera atop his legs; he was sitting cross-legged in the seat, somewhat slanted so that most of him could fit. His gaze drifted to the backseat, where several of their bags were piled and he contemplated the amount of supplies they’d stowed in the trunk.

“Can you try to get a signal with the satellite phone?” Tim asked, and it wasn’t long before he was moving, carefully clambering forward until he was on his knees and reaching between the two front seats, digging through one of his packs. The satellite phone was their one link to the outside world, _to be used for emergencies only,_ or so Jason often reiterated.

“I hate to break it to you,” Jason stated, as if phoning for help was a poor idea. “I really don’t think Bruce is going to send a chopper.”

Outside, wind howled and an updraft of snow made an eerie sound as it swept through stagnant trees. The Rover’s engine hummed, and when Tim finally unearthed his tablet, he drew back and into his seat.

“You’re allowed to call him Bruce?” he asked, blowing a small bubble from his gum and letting it pop against his lips.

“What do _you_ call him?”

“I call him Mr. Wayne,” Tim stated, adjusting his camera against his stomach so that he had a clearer view of his tablet screen. “It’s not like we go out for drinks together.”

The mental image must have been amusing because Jason laughed, a genuine and unexpected warmth in his tone. “No, you just travel the world, building your collection of incriminating photos. The fact he buys most of them means nothing, right?”

Tim hummed as he slouched back into his seat, and waded through a plethora of opened apps.

“I dunno what it means,” he commented passively. “ _You’re_ the one that works for him.”

“And _you’re_ the one he always assigns me to,” Jason countered. “Guess he’s a big fan of your work.”

In response, Tim held out a hand for the satellite phone, which  Jason turned over reluctantly.

“What can I say?” offered Tim, loosely. “I really know how to capture a moment.” The comment sat for a small moment before Tim added, “These candid shots of you, for instance: a half-blink in each one. Perfect blackmail material; I’ll probably charge him double.”

Jason did a decent job of looking unimpressed.

“Okay, the tablet’s working off the satellite’s signal. Use your Boy Scout skills and find us some shelter.” Tim passed over the tablet and Jason took it readily enough - and he reached forward and killed the ignition just to be on the safe side.

“Bruce’s got tons of trekker shelters, but Bulgravia seems a bit…” his words drifted and Tim’s eyes danced from the screen to his face, trying to read Jason’s expression.

“Far?” Tim supplied. In truth, Tim had never been to Bulgravia before; few people had. It was nearly impossible to get past border patrol, and so the few that were desperate enough braved the winter pass.

“I was gonna say that, but it looks like _something’s_ on here,” Jason continued, his dark eyes turning a sudden, ocean-hued blue as the light from the tablet illuminated them. “Looks like a cabin, about a mile and a half that way.”

Tim followed the direction of Jason’s pointed finger, narrowing his eyes when the torrent of snowfall kept him from seeing much of anything.

“We can’t stay on the road, though. One, we could get buried. Two, we could freeze. Three, I really don’t want to risk a Bulgravian patrol finding us.”

“In this weather?” Tim asked.

“This is their _only_ weather,” Jason commented. “Bulgravian toddlers are probably playing in backyards right now, wearing nothing but diapers.”

Tim snorted as he leaned closer to Jason, attempting to get a better look at the map he’d pulled up. It was impossible not to inhale the scent of him, old leather and gunpowder, touched with aftershave.

On the tablet, he located the red X Jason was referring to, and dreaded what was sure to be an hour of ice-cold torment. He hadn’t come prepared for a hike.

“It’s cold out there,” Tim commented.

“It will be cold in here, soon enough,” Jason countered.

Tim shrugged, because that was an unavoidable truth.

“Let’s take only what we need,” Jason said, eyes flickering to the backseat, which was crammed with backpacks that didn’t belong to him.

Tim sighed.

“Right.”

***

An hour-long trek dissolved into two, and Tim found himself red-cheeked and swallowing breaths that somehow felt like fire.

“I’m not going to make it,” he murmured to himself, because his pants had soaked through, and every step was like trudging through cement.

Even though the wind offered moments of calm, the air was simply bitter; the setting sun was hidden behind massive pillows of sprawling clouds, which created a foggy haze that nipped at Tim’s heels.

Jason paused a moment to look back - every so often he made the effort to ensure Tim still followed, only this time his brows dipped in concern. He asked something that the wind stole, and Tim shook his head and stumbled forward, tripping over undergrowth the snow had blotted out.

“You okay?” Jason asked, and his words were clearer this time. Tim’s teeth chattered and he debated on how to best answer. Jason must have caught his train of thought because he came down a few paces and took hold of Tim’s wrist, drawing his attention upwards.

“Hey,” he said, and Tim found himself narrowing his eyes when his vision blurred briefly, just before three Jason’s fanned back into one.

“Hey,” he replied, the word soft and shaky.

“You don’t look too good,” Jason stated, and his eyes seemed irrationally focused on Tim’s lips, which, for some reason, had Tim’s pulse sluggishly attempting to speed up.

“You look great,” Tim found himself saying, and then he folded his lips together and swallowed dryly. “You know. Warm.”

It wasn’t as if Tim’s lack of appropriate gear was _unrealized_ \- the whole purpose of their trip was to travel to the capital, get some shots of a political event, and book it back to Gotham. That hardly meant Tim needed _snowboarding pants_ , or _a thousand layers_ , or _hand-warmers,_ or even a _hat._ He had a coat - a thick coat with a drawstring hood, and gloves he’d owned since high school.

While the coat battled the weather to the best of its ability, the hood had grown damp, and Tim’s gloves had succumbed to the same fate. The first hour had been manageable, but the last…

“Can you make it another fifteen minutes?” Jason asked.

Tim raised an eyebrow. “What are you going to do if I can’t? Carry me?”

Jason, who somehow managed to make this adventure look easy in his military-grade gear, held an arm out and motioned for Tim to hand over his backpack, to which Tim shook his head.

“Please don’t make me move more than I have to,” he pleaded, and then simply pushed forward, sucking in a shaky breath. His limbs were so stiff, and he hated to admit it, but his pack was keeping snow from whipping up and against his back.

Fifteen minutes.

He could make it another fifteen minutes.

Jason rounded him from the right, blocking a bit of the gusting wind. Tim lacked the energy to thank him; he simply kept his eyes forward, focusing all of his energy on putting one foot in front of the other.

The snow was high, up to his thighs - it had Tim feeling short because Jason had less wading to do and seemed to slip through easily with his bulk.

Time dragged. Five minutes felt like twenty, and soon Tim wasn’t thinking at all, just moving, trusting Jason to get him wherever he needed to go. His body had long since evolved past aching, and now he simply pushed forward like a lead weight dragged across the surface of the earth by pure willpower alone.

When the cabin came into sight, Tim barely felt relief; the fifty foot gap left to cross seemed like a hopeless endeavor. Jason latched onto his wrist and tugged him along, cutting a trail through the snow to get to the door of the small, log house which was barely the length of two cars lined one after another. It was completely shrouded in decades-old pine trees, a well-hidden structure sheeted in ice, with a hill of snow braced against one side that the wind had blown into place.

It had definitely been a settler’s cabin, and Tim stood stiff as a board as Jason fiddled with the door long enough to get them inside - where it was pitch black, freezing, and smelled like wet pine.

“Okay,” Jason said, moving a mile a minute.

Tim felt tired just watching.

Jason disappeared into the darkness, using a pair of infrared goggles Tim had made fun of him for bringing, making noises here and there as he rifled through what the place had to offer. Tim assumed _not much_ , and was surprised, with how many dangerous situations they’d faced together, that this somehow seemed the worst.

Shifting sideways, Tim bumped into a chest, a numb pain lancing up through his calf. He leaned over, stretching out his arm as he felt for the wooden surface, and sat down atop it, his entire body quaking.

“Jason,” he called, trying to swallow and struggling.

“I know,” Jason’s voice sounded, “I know, here I come.”

A small light lit the space, a pinprick of candlelight dancing above a thick, emergency candle. Jason knelt in front of Tim and set it down, and Tim could see he had quite a few more in his arms, watching as Jason set them down and lit them with practiced precision.

“All right, let’s see…” Jason stated, tugging off his gloves.

It was impossible to keep from tensing when Jason’s fingers pressed up against his pants, and it was even more impossible to ignore the way Jason’s expression shifted as he concentrated. It was a hazy thought, but Tim couldn’t remember a time when he’d seen Jason look as concerned as he did now.

“I’m wet,” Tim stated the obvious. “And cold.”

Jason sniffled, dragging the back of his hand across his nose. He looked more alive than Tim felt, and Tim watched him unload weapons from his back and belt in order to get into a more comfortable crouch.

“Tim, we’ve got to get you out of these clothes,” he replied seriously. It was rare that Jason was serious-serious, and it chased Tim’s humor away.

“Yeah,” he replied, shaking. “Okay.”

Jason did most of the work; it was an odd experience, like looking through a yellow and black-hued kaleidoscope, watching him move in the candlelight. Tim could barely feel his feet as Jason unlaced and tugged off his boots, just before peeling off socks that dripped.

“When we get back to Gotham,” he said, “we’re buying you _actual_ winter clothes.”

Tim hunched forward, biting his lip when Jason’s hand embraced one of his feet and it felt like fire.

“Wasn’t expecting Mount Everest, here,” Tim managed to say, and watched as Jason attempted to rub some circulation back into his foot. It left a strange tingling sensation behind, and Jason’s hands moved to the zipper of Tim’s coat, eager to work it down so that he could get the piece of apparel off.

“Not wet,” Jason said, slipping a hand beneath Tim’s coat, feeling dry clothes beneath, and clammy skin.

“Still cold,” Tim shivered, drawn to the sensation of Jason’s heat seeping through his t-shirt.

It wasn’t unexpected when Jason’s attention finally came to Tim’s pants, where he began to unbutton, though Tim sat up a bit straighter and threw his attention sideways, wondering how it was possible to feel embarrassed when he had other things to worry about - more important things, like hypothermia.

He wasn’t stupid - he was sure Jason was worried about that, too.

“Need a little help, here,” Jason propositioned, and Tim didn’t bother looking, didn’t want to watch Jason’s fingers work at his waistband, or pay special attention to the way Jason’s skin left burning trails across his hips, down his thighs, as he peeled off the wet, sopping material.

It was disappointing when Jason drew back, and Tim was left free from wet clothes but saturated in unabashed cold; the cabin was a freezer.

“I’m going to leave you for a minute,” Jason lifted a finger to Tim’s chin, forcing their gazes to meet. It caused Tim to suck in a breath; it had his pulse skittering. “You gonna to be okay?”

Unable to treat the situation seriously, and battling what he felt was a blood rush to his racing heart, Tim folded his lips together in thought.  “I am trapped in a cabin,” he swallowed again, his tone shaking, “wearing nothing but boxers and a coat. I have been through worse.”

Jason laughed as he stood up. “I find _that_ hard to believe. Although I hate to break it to you - we don’t have wi-fi.”

Too exhausted to play along, Tim simply said, “Satellite phone.”

“Almost out of battery,” Jason admitted, freeing himself from a stacked pack he had lugged all the way from the Rover. It hit the ground with a force that caused the candles to wobble, and Tim watched as he began unstrapping two rolls from the bottom.

 _Sleeping bags,_ he noted.

And then his attention wandered.

The five flickering candles attempted to chase shadows up the walls of the cabin.  The space was small, barely deep enough to take more than fifteen steps. An old, wood-burning stove lingered in the far corner, seated on a raised platform made of caulked stone. Wood creaked and wind whistled outside, and every time Jason moved, his boots scuffed thick, dark planks.

Shelves lined one wall of the space, though Tim couldn’t make out what was stacked on them. Scattered and seated flush to the wall were a few chests, including the one Tim was seated on, which he suspected were filled with tools and various gear left over from those who’d stayed here before.

“Can you get off your backpack?” Jason asked, and the question made Tim realize he’d been spacing out. When he glanced back, Jason had already unzipped one sleeping bag and laid it flat; he was currently topping it with another.

“…are we about to share body heat?” Tim asked, weakly. This had definitely evolved into their worst trip, as Tim was sure he’d never been quite this embarrassed and too tired to even give the emotion proper consideration.

After all, he was half-naked and about to share covers with a guy he’d been tip-toeing around for years; one of the top 2% of the population that actually stood a chance at matching his banter, or making him feel nervous.

At the question, Jason gave him a look.

“…just asking,” Tim commented, shifting his eyes elsewhere while he slowly worked a strap off his shoulder and then moved to the other. It took a good deal of concentration and coordination to pull it around and into his lap - and when he felt it, he sucked in a sudden, anxious breath.

From across the room, Jason glanced up. “What?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

It was obvious he was worried for Tim’s sake, and _Tim_ , with a one-track mind that always seemed to know exactly how to prioritize, pawed at his camera bag before saying. “It’s wet. My camera -”

“Yeah, nope,” Jason said, hopping as he tugged his foot free from his pants and tossed them onto a solitary wooden chair that sat mid-room. He stalked towards Tim and motioned for the small black bag, completely serious. “You need to get out of those clothes and under the sleeping bag,” he stated, motioning at the makeshift bed with his head.

“But if the SD card -”

“I’ll take care of it,” Jason declared, and watched Tim sluggishly remove his coat and take a few heavy steps towards the bed setup, near which he paused and cast Jason a worried glance, wanting to investigate his camera _himself._

“Sleeping bag,” Jason ordered, not even giving Tim the decency of a comforting glance. He followed behind, however, shaking his head; as soon as Tim was on his knees and peeling back the top cover, Jason dropped to a crouch, his muscles cording in ways Tim wished he hadn’t noticed.

“How old is this thing, anyway?” Jason asked, his finger slipping over the power button, bringing the camera to life. Tim thought about it, considered how much data he had stored on the card currently inside - and immediately felt colder than he even had before.

“Um, can I…”

“No. No, you cannot. You’re still not under the covers,” Jason stated. “And besides, your camera is fine, and so are your files.” He seemed to be thumbing through them, and when he squinted, Tim’s stomach clenched. ““Luckily for you, no damage has been done to the folders: _Kalbatrov, Luthor,_ or _J. Todd.”_

Sitting on the sleeping bag, legs drawn underneath him, Tim held up a weary hand. His heart beat a thousand miles a minute, which left him feeling strangely dizzy. “I can explain.”

“Ugh, you weren’t kidding, I really am half-blinking in these,” Jason commented, thumbing through pictures while Tim’s fingers curled and he helplessly gripped the bedding beneath him.

“Jason,” he said, seriously. The cold had his tone sounding airy.

Jason’s eyes didn’t leave the display; he simply hummed in question.

“It’s not what you think,” Tim stated, teeth beginning to chatter.

At the sound of that, Jason did lift his gaze and he poked at the sleeping bags, his own indicator that Tim should get _underneath._

“I’m pretty sure you’re lying again,” Jason said. “Unless someone’s paid you to take these. And if that’s the case, I’d really like to know _who_ requested _this._ ”

When Jason turned the camera, what little warmth Tim had came rushing to his cheeks; the picture was one he’d taken when they’d had their second assignment together, when Jason had stayed up half the night cleaning artillery shirtless because the hotel’s air-conditioning had gone out.

Tim had pretended to be filtering through lenses, but he’d snagged a few shots of Jason’s intense concentration, the sharp focus of his eyes; the weak light from a side-table making his skin look like canvas, sweat sheeting its contours.

“‘Um…” Tim said, not quite sure if he was sweating buckets or clammy because of the cold.

“ _Get under the damn blanket,”_ Jason urged, and Tim couldn’t read him - was he upset? Angry? Did he think it was funny?

It wasn’t as if their relationship _hadn’t_ fallen into something comfortable. They worked at least one case together every couple of months, had already experienced a couple of run-ins where Jason had actually been _needed,_ had gotten used to each other’s bad habits, more or less, and had, for a while, been teetering on banter that occasionally gave Tim’s pulse cause to stumble.

The sleeping bag was thick and the outer fabric sleek. Tim’s bare skin felt electric sliding against it, and when he was finally underneath, he turned away from where he knew Jason would slip in behind him.

On a normal day, he would have felt lucky. Now, he just felt awkward and flustered and so, so _tired._

It took a moment. Tim heard Jason shuffling, also heard the sound of his camera being turned off, and then there was movement, and a flood of warmth as Jason’s skin brushed against his own from behind.

Tim found himself shivering, toes curling as he resisted leaning back, letting that heat devour him.

Surprisingly, it was Jason that asked, his words a breath that ruffled the hair of Tim’s neck, “Is it okay if I get closer?”

Tim wondered if Jason could hear his heartbeat jackhammering between his lungs, which only served to flood Tim with an unsettled anxiety; _what was Jason thinking?_

“Yeah…” He answered, because there was no witty comeback, there was just need, an odd need that seemed only partly sated when Jason closed the gap between them.

Compared to Tim’s, Jason’s thighs were _burning,_ and coincidentally, when Jason curled an arm around Tim’s chest, it felt like being swallowed by flames.

“Were you a furnace in another life?” Tim questioned.

“Ha ha,” Jason gave, and it seemed for a moment like the mood between them changed, and Tim felt himself tense, thinking _here it comes…_

Instead, Tim realized that Jason was holding something in his hand, something that he soon discovered was a phone as soon as Jason swiped to unlock the screen.

“Don’t think you’re gonna have any data out here,” Tim said, but Jason shushed him and pulled up his photos, where a folder existed labeled TD.

Tim blinked and thought for a moment he might be imagining it. “What?” he asked.

“I’m just saying,” Jason sighed, tapping to bring the folder to life. His tone was a bit softer than usual, like he might be embarrassed, and Tim would pay to see that - but instead of turning, he let Jason’s words dance across his neck.

“You’re not the only one with a crush.”

A chill raced the entire length of Tim’s body as the words caught and stuck, and his arm came creeping from beneath the covers so that he could scroll through, so he could really look at what Jason was offering…

“Wow,” Tim breathed. There were pictures of him taking pictures, of him adjusting his camera, all candid shots of Tim looking relaxed, calm - walls down, defenses lowered. Pictures that were surprisingly good for being amateur, that captured Tim looking much more animated than he suspected he did, that caught him at attractive angles, and made his eyes look intensely blue beneath dark lashes.

“Pretty sure you’re in love with your camera, though,” Jason sighed. “It would never work out.”

Tim felt as if time had slowed around him, as if he might be imagining all of this - how was it possible for one moment to change so much, and for him to feel like he hadn’t even taken one step to get caught up?

“Well…” he spoke, swallowing. “Pretty sure my camera can’t keep me from freezing the death.”

Jason tucked his head forward, and Tim felt a chin rest against the curve of his neck. “No,” Jason admitted, his words ghosting Tim’s ear, causing his hair to flutter forward. “I guess it can’t.”

The moment sat and Tim wondered if it was possible or his heart to beat through his shirt. Part of him debated whether or not he was hallucinating, if this was all a dream.

Even if it was, he decided to go with it, even though he knew he was flushing to his ears.

“I guess it’s settled then,” he said, finally moving, curling his body so that he molded more perfectly against Jason’s. “Priority says you win.”

An unexpected light drew Tim’s attention and he blinked a couple of times before realizing that Jason and turned back on his phone. Not only that, he was pulling up the camera.

“Why?” he asked, because he cared about photos, about the artistry of them, and he highly doubted there was anything artsy about his disheveled hair and pale features, spare the blush that threatened to ruin him.

“I’m documenting,” Jason said from behind. Tim felt a smile come on, and somehow, he knew what Jason would say next. “I’ve never had a day quite this epic.”

Tim let him take the picture.

After all, he agreed.


End file.
